Benjamin’s town business consisted solely of visiting Aunt Abigail. After their discussion at the previous evening’s ball was cut short and with the subsequent attack on the Hastings’ townhouse, urgency compelled Benjamin to dig into the events leading up to the discovery of Mr. Hastings’ body.
“Benjamin, it is lovely to see you this morning,” Abigail announced as she entered the dining room. “I did expect you today. However, I am surprised to find you visiting at such an early hour.” She yawned widely and shuffled over to the sideboard which was laid with steaming eggs and fresh scones. She accepted a plate laden with food from Mrs. Grace, her long-time housekeeper and cook.
“Tell me Benjamin, is your mother not feeding you enough you are now forced to scavenge my table for scraps?”
Benjamin choked on his eggs. He swallowed the mouthful and grinned mischievously. “Thomas eats all the food.”
Abigail laughed as she seated herself next to Benjamin at the head of the table. “That, I would believe.”
She took a sip of tea and studied Benjamin carefully. After a moment, she placed the cup back onto its saucer.
“Enough niceties. I am curious to know the motive for this early appearance, and it is not for Mrs. Grace’s sumptuous cooking.” Abigail gestured to the empty space the woman occupied a moment earlier. Mrs. Grace had disappeared soundlessly behind a side door situated next to a china cabinet, leaving Abigail and Benjamin in privacy.
“I do,” replied Benjamin. He set down his fork with a clink. “I wanted to speak with you further about the night of Mr. Hastings’ murder.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow at her nephew’s candor. “I may not be much help. My memory of that evening is over ten years old.”
“I am aware,” Benjamin replied. “However, anything you remember would be helpful. Perhaps you could remember the names of some of the guests. That information has been muddied over the past few years.”
“Yes,” Abigail agreed, her mouth pulling into a wry smile. “It seems as though the whole of society claimed to have attended that night.”
“I do know neither Father nor Mother was present. Father had business in Greece and Mother decided to drag Thomas and me along with them.”
Abigail shot him a scathing glare. “Do not pretend you did not enjoy those trips, Benjamin Westwood.”
Benjamin held up his hands to fend off his aunt. “Of course, I did.”
“Oh,” A voice squeaked from the doorway.
Benjamin and Abigail glanced up at the same time, their heads moving in unison.
“Daphne,” Abigail spoke first, smiling warmly as she beckoned to her niece. “Please, do join us for breakfast.”
“Miss Clemens.” Benjamin rose and bowed to her. Miss Clemens managed the barest of curtsies. “It is lovely to see you again. Miss Hastings sends her regards.”
The color returned to Miss Clemens face. “Lord Westwood,” she whispered shyly, staring at the floor as she curtsied. She chose a chair on the other side of her aunt, directly facing Benjamin, and accepted the offered plate from Mrs. Grace who had re-entered the dining room stealthily. While she ate, Miss Clemens stole furtive glances at Benjamin. Considering how smitten she seemed with Thomas last evening, Benjamin figured this breakfast must seem like a dream and a nightmare at the same time–the right face, but the wrong brother.
“Will you be staying long?” he asked politely, trying to put her at ease.
“I will be staying indefinitely,” she replied, blushing deeply. Aware she had been caught staring, her eyes dropped to the toast in front of her.
Benjamin noticed a firm tone in her voice when she spoke the word indefinitely. It seemed out of place for her gentle character.
“Daphne has become a permanent member of this household.” Abigail placed her hand over her niece’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. A sob tumbled from Miss Clemens’ lips as she flung herself into Abigail’s arms and buried her face in the elderly woman’s neck. Abigail wrapped her arms around the girl and patted her on the head, cooing tenderly.
Benjamin was surprised by the sudden closeness between them. In his memory, Aunt Abigail never seemed to be the nurturing type, preferring to keep most people at a distance with her vicious cane. Feeling as though he was intruding on their private moment, Benjamin rose quietly. He stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to determine if he should remain in the room during this exceedingly personal exchange. Deciding to hunt down some coffee, he slipped out the slightly ajar side door into the kitchen. In his haste, Benjamin nearly knocked over Mrs. Grace who hesitated near the door as she listened to the breakfast conversation. In her hands was a tray with the absent coffee pot.
“Is there something I can assist you with, my Lord?” she asked, taking several steps back to avoid spilling the tray. She seemed utterly surprised by his sudden appearance in her kitchen. Benjamin wondered how many people actually had the opportunity to view her domain.
“I was looking for the coffee,” he replied.
Mrs. Grace set the tray on a nearby table and poured him a cup. He accepted the offered beverage and glanced around the kitchen, trying to invent another reason to delay his return to the dining room. Mrs. Grace eyed him warily. His hesitation unnerved her.
“Mrs. Grace, may I ask you a delicate question?”
“Absolutely, my Lord.” She looked at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he was still standing in the kitchen.
“What happened to Miss Clemens?” he asked, knowing someone as nosy as Mrs. Grace would be brimming with details and more than willing to part with them.
“Poor thing,” Mrs. Grace began in a gleeful, hushed tone. “Her mother woke the house at one this morning, banging on the front door with a chunk of Miss Clemens beautiful hair wrapped around her fist. Mrs. Clemens screamed the most dreadful obscenities and threw her shoe at the dining-room window.”
“Was she intoxicated?” asked Benjamin, the coffee cup hovered near his lips forgotten.
“I believe so,” nodded Mrs. Grace. “After she threw the shoe, Mrs. Clemens accused your aunt of interfering and threatened her life.”
Benjamin’s eyes narrowed. “She probably was interfering; however, Mrs. Clemens reaction seems entirely too extreme. What was the reason behind this horrendous display?”
“Mrs. Clemens forbade her daughter from encouraging an attachment to Miss Hastings.”
Benjamin bristled at the mention of Miss Hastings’ name, but he bit his tongue and allowed Mrs. Grace to continue her story uninterrupted.
“Miss Clemens stated she would rather cut her attachment with the Shirely family. Her mother was livid. Mrs. Shirely is a close friend of hers.”
“How did they end up here at such an early hour?”
“Apparently, the argument occurred in the carriage as they were leaving the Leveret’s residence after everyone had stampeded out of the ball due to the fire. Mrs. Clemens told her daughter if that was her choice, she was no longer welcome in the Clemens’ home. Miss Clemens replied she would go live with your aunt instead. I believe Mrs. Clemens was hoping your aunt would reject the new living arrangements.”
Benjamin snorted. “Not likely.”
Mrs. Grace smiled. “Miss Clemens was sent upstairs immediately. There was already an armoire stuffed with new clothes waiting in her room.”
“What was Mrs. Clemens’ reaction?” asked Benjamin.
“She launched into a tirade. Your aunt stood on the steps in her nightdress, wrapped in a shawl, and watched Mrs. Clemens throw a tantrum in the middle of the street. The neighbors came outside to investigate the ruckus.”
“That will be interesting to read about this morning,” Benjamin quipped.
Mrs. Grace shook her head. “The incident has already been hushed. Mrs. Shirely’s name was mentioned. She will make sure the society papers do not repeat anything that occurred that does not paint her in a favorable light.”
Benjamin was quiet a moment as he processed the information—a closet of clothes, an already prepared chamber... “Aunt Abigail must have been planning this escapade for a while.”
That comment earned a grin from Mrs. Grace. “I know nothing of your aunt’s plans, except what she would like for supper this evening.”
“How did Mrs. Clemens finally come to leave?”
“Your aunt threatened to bring the constable.”
Benjamin laughed and shook his head. Yes, Aunt Abigail was definitely meddling. He wondered if his mother had also been involved in Miss Clemens’ family defection. Lord help Thomas if both Aunt Abigail and his mother were plotting to find him a wife.
Sensing the end of the conversation, Mrs. Grace nodded briefly to Benjamin before entering the pantry. She returned a moment later carrying several large potatoes, which she dumped onto the table and began peeling in earnest. Benjamin turned to re-enter the dining room, his head swimming. As he put his hand on the door, he paused and turned back to the housekeeper. There was one more question he needed to ask.
“Mrs. Grace, I am curious to know how much of our morning conversation you overheard.”
Mrs. Grace glanced briefly at the potato in her hand and then leveled her gaze. “Every word.”
“I see,” replied Benjamin. “I would appreciate your silence on this matter until the details are made public.”
“You have my word, my Lord,” she replied with a nod. She began cutting the potatoes into chunks but paused mid-slice, the knife hovering an inch above the table. “My Lord, I may be able to help you.”
Benjamin looked at her oddly. “Help me with what exactly?”
“My brother worked for the Hastings family. He was the person who discovered Lord Hastings’ body.”
Benjamin’s breath caught in his throat; this was the missing piece. “Where does he work now?”
Mrs. Grace shook her head. “Sadly, he died of a heart attack several days after Lord Hastings passed away. However, he mentioned something to me prior to his death. I thought it was strange at the time though I have not thought about it since he passed.”
Benjamin fleetingly wondered if her brother’s death was also orchestrated by the same man who murdered Lord Hastings. However, Benjamin did not share this notion aloud.
“Please continue,” he replied quietly, giving the housekeeper his full attention.
“John told me the authorities questioned everyone at the house before deciding the death was due to natural causes. Yet the investigating officers neglected to question the man who originally raised the alarm to Lord Hastings’ dire predicament.”
“That is odd. Was there a reason given for this oversight?”
“The man was out of the country at the time of the inquiry. After the cause of death was determined, there was no longer a need to interview him.”
“Did your brother mention the name of this mysterious man?”
“Mr. Franklin Morris.”